


Heat of the Moment

by orphan_account



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: AU, Everybody's a werewolf, M/M, omega heat thingy idek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-27
Updated: 2012-08-27
Packaged: 2017-11-13 00:06:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 729
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/497177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Something clicks. Stiles isn’t sure the precise moment—sometime between “Who would ever want to sleep with you, anyways? You’d never shut that freaking mouth of yours” and “how many times have you came in your pants today?”—but something clicks, and Stiles breaks into a grin.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Heat of the Moment

**Author's Note:**

> Just a random idea I got, with the potential to have smut tacked on at a later date.
> 
> If it's confusing, it's an omega-only heat, type, thing, I don't know I made it up. Deal.

Stiles shifts in his seat relentlessly. His only comfort is that he isn’t the only one—omegas are pretty common, especially in his school. Sure, he’s the only one in his group of friends, but at least three other kids, including Greenberg, are shaky and pent up.

Despite being able to share the humiliation with someone, Stiles isn’t any more complacent with his situation. Being an omega, however spunky and cheeky he may be, still means he goes through the same cycles as the rest of them. The need to submit, the ache to give into someone and just be used, to let anyone in his pack have at him because that’s what he is—he’s the punching bag, the proverbial chair for the rest of them to sit on and talk shit about (do people talk shit about chairs? Maybe he should rethink his metaphors).

Regardless, he’s  _burning_  for the opportunity to submit to someone. But, Stiles Stilinski is a proud seventeen year old young man, and he ain’t gonna bend over for  _nobody_.

Unless they ask really,  _really_  nicely.

He doesn’t even care that Mr. Harris slaps him with detention for breaking his pencil.

)

Scott, Alison, Lydia, pretty much everyone has been really nice to him—as well as the rest of the omegas—because they understand it isn’t fun, it isn’t _really_  voluntary. Even Derek has been extra nice to Stiles, which is kind of freakish and unwanted, but Stiles isn’t going to tell him so.

Predictably, the only person who hasn’t been accommodating to the once a year problem is  _Jackson_. Even with Danny as a best friend, Jackson proves over and over to be the most narrow minded son of a bitch Stiles has ever met.

It’s been going on all week, ever since Stiles and the rest of the omegas at Beacon Hills High walked in jittery and nervous and reeking of  _sex_ , and today at lunch is no different. Stiles sits at the opposite end of the table as Jackson, but it does no good.

“How’s it going Stilinski? Still itching to be bred?”

Stiles wonders why Jackson is so intent on messing with him.

“You  _stink_ , Stilinski, why can’t they lock up the omegas for a while?”

Stiles tilts his head, unwilling to let the words get to him.

“I bet you’d roll over for Derek and beg for it, huh?” That, at least, earns a dirty look from everyone else at the table, but not much else.

Stiles remains unperturbed.

“Or maybe you’ll just shack up with one of the other omegas?” Jackson smirks and ignores the way Lydia mutters  _you know it doesn’t work like that dumbass_.

Something clicks. Stiles isn’t sure the precise moment—sometime between “Who would ever want to sleep with you, anyways? You’d never shut that freaking mouth of yours” and “how many times have you came in your pants today?”—but something clicks, and Stiles breaks into a grin.

“Jackson, if you wanted to tap this, you only had to ask.” Stiles says, cutting across another half-baked insult, garnering the attention of everyone at the table.

Jackson splutters, face turning pink. “What the hell?”

Stiles leans forward on his elbows, and licks his lips. He’s never been one for sex appeal, but Jackson’s eyes definitely follow his every movement, every lick or batting of an eye. “You didn’t have to be so mean Jackson, you could’ve just said you wanted to  _fuck_  me.”

Scott flushes red and Alison grabs him, they flee the table. Lydia is pink with delight, and Derek’s three pups look caught between amusement and wanting to bolt. In the end, Boyd excuses himself, but Erica looks as deviously interested as Lydia.

“C’mon Jackson, what’re you waiting for? We can ditch out on the rest of the day.. Your parents probably aren’t home, and I know you have that  _huge_  bed,” Stiles draws out ‘huge’ with a pointed glance at Jackson’s crotch.

Jackson, at this point, is as red as a tomato. Redder, actually.

Stiles stands abruptly, and Jackson jumps like he’s been slapped. “No?” Stiles asks, not expecting an answer, “you know Jackson, denial is just an ugly look on you.” He winks, and deliberately swings his hips as he leaves the cafeteria.

Jackson doesn’t follow him, but Stiles knows it’ll be less than an hour before he comes around.


End file.
